GOIN’ HOME AT EVENIN’
When my workin’ day is over,
And I leave my task behind,
And I’m walkin’ home at evenin’
With a tired and weary mind,
Then I see the babies comin’
As they toddle down the street.
‘Tis a sight that lifts the burdens
And puts spring into the feet.
Then the little chubby fingers
Wrap the gnarled one of mine,
And the answer to my question,
“How’re you gettin’ ‘long?” is “Fine.”
Then I walk on to the cottage,
Just a king toward his throne;
Love’s the banner o’er my kingdom,
And these subjects are my own.
Then the queen comes out
to greet me
And my pleasure is complete.
You may ask for fairer empires
All in vain – this can’t be beat!
Pity all the hapless fellows
Who retreat, when work is done,
To their silent habitations
Midst the setting of the sun.
With no little hands to greet them
And with no one at the door –
Though they have a bank of money
There is none that’s quite so poor.
Give me little feet and laughter;
Give me family and friends.
Even though we strive together
To make meetin’ of the ends.
Gold and silver are so lifeless,
Brightest jewels dull beside
All the joy that comes from goin’
Home to friends at even tide.
-- Edmund E. Wells © 1962